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Half Moon Whim
-- EXCERPT: Sara Collins climbed onto the pier, the wooden slats creaking pleasantly under her feet. Though Half Moon Bay was primarily a scuba diving resort, Sara’s sister Hope had opened a spa recently. She’d spoken with the new massage therapist, Selena Allen, several times prior to the wedding, and immediately bonded with her enthusiastic personality, especially since the spa was Sara’s kind of place. Halfway down the pier, she passed through a tunnel of buildings and made her way past the dive shop to a long staircase at the north end. A covered deck with an incredible St. Croix ocean view dominated the area at the top of the stairs and served as the outdoor massage area. Next to the glass entrance door, a wooden wall formed a privacy screen, and a second, more nondescript door led to a restroom. Sara entered the clean, brightly lit spa, where Selena stood behind the glass check-in counter, refilling a small bottle with massage oil. The warm scent of sandalwood filled the air. The massage therapist glanced up at the door’s opening, her dark face bursting into a wide smile at Sara’s entry. She was a trim, small woman in her mid-twenties, wearing a light-blue staff polo shirt. What I wouldn’t give to have her small, petite frame… Lucky girl. Sara made an effort to dress well and appear professionally styled and made-up, partly to compensate for her voluptuous and curvy figure. No manner of diet or exercise had ever changed that and now, at age thirty-three, she was resigned to her fate. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t self-conscious about it “Sara! You stayin’ a few more days?” “No, I’m flying out this evening. Hope’s working, so I thought I’d come up here.” Her gaze took in the mani-pedi station along one wall, with a full stylist area in the corner. Like a magnet, she was drawn toward the hair salon. Several windows let in plenty of light. “You have a massage scheduled?” Selena finished filling the bottle, shaking her head. “Not till tomorrow. I’m just gettin’ ready.” Sara ran a hand over the back of the stylist chair where she had cut Hope’s hair and given her a deep-conditioning treatment the day prior to the wedding. They had chatted throughout, almost like old times. Immediately afterward, they had met the rest of the wedding party on the resort dive boat, Surface Interval. Heat crept up Sara’s neck as she tried to push away the memory of what had happened next. The resort’s newest employee, the divemaster Jack, had tripped and dumped an enormous bucket of water over her head, drenching her from head to foot. In front of everyone. She’d been mortified and embarrassed but determined not to show it. As Sara passed by a window next to the stylist station, movement at the end of the pier caught her eye. A gleaming white boat was tied up and the group of divers was already headed away. “There’s good sound insulation in here. I didn’t even hear the boat come in.” “They did a great job on the construction. It always stays nice and cool in here, too.” Sara turned toward the front door. “I’d better get going. Hope said she’d be finished about lunch time.” The two women said their goodbyes, then Sara opened the door, turning left to descend the stairs. And collided right into a warm body, smashing her nose into a shoulder. “Oof!” Wincing, she rubbed it as she staggered back. She was preparing to apologize as she looked up into a pair of huge, gorgeous brown eyes that widened in recognition. Unfortunately, the eyes belonged to Jack. The horrible divemaster. Her chagrin instantly erupted into fury, and she dropped her hand from her face. “Goddammit, watch where you’re going. Pouring water over me wasn’t enough? You have to break my nose too?” Jack’s face flushed crimson as he took a big step back, holding up both hands. “I’m sorry! I need to use the restroom and wasn’t watching where I was going.” He was of average height, but at five feet three, she still had to look up at him. He spoke with a very slight twang. Texas? “Yeah. No kidding. You really need to stay the hell away from me, understand?” His obvious embarrassment was replaced by a flash of anger that he quickly covered, raking a hand through his short, dark-brown hair. He had a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, and really was rather good looking. Too bad it’s all wasted on him. “Look, I’m not doing it on purpose. Lighten up, princess.” Clenching her jaw tightly, Sara drew herself as tall as she could. “No. I won’t. But fortunately for both of us, I’m leaving later today.” She breezed around him toward the staircase. “Have a nice life, Jack.” 
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Green House Haunting: An Andy Watts Ghost Column
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: Green house stood solemnly in a noiseless field of overgrown vegetation. The dim rays of daylight disappeared in the distance beyond, darkening the front while sharpening the jagged exterior outline with a looming violet glow. It rose above the ground, perhaps two floors high, but a lack of windows at the top told Andy it may not have an attic to speak of. The house drew her closer. The windows appeared somewhat new, the lining freshly painted white. It contrasted the worn, splintered wood on the verge of collapsing from the weight of a perched bird. At the base of the sagging stoop was the frame of a crumbling, rusted bicycle, rendered useless by the rain and condensation. Andy climbed the front steps. Two, three, four steps upward, each one creaking an undecipherable note of an ominous melody. An unraveling front door mat read “Home” in tattered, fading letters. This isn’t so bad. Andy winced, unable to swallow her own lie. Quickly, she found the key in the envelope before she could change her mind and turn back. The shiny silver looked brand new compared to the decrepit bronze lock on the door. Studying the door closer, she spotted the new keyhole. A stern-looking deadbolt glinting a couple of inches above what must have been the original lock. She pushed the door open, and the weight dragged it all the way open to gently bounce off the interior wall. Andy peered inside, but her feet stayed glued to the mat outside the door. The interior contents were fuzzy in the fading light, yet she could spot the three glinting hooks on the wall for sweaters and hats. A little deeper inside was one wing of the house, and to the right was another. In the center was a semi-carpeted staircase leading upstairs, where what followed remained unseen around the corner. There was nothing particularly extraordinary about the home. She was no expert on houses made in the ’30s and ’40s, but it looked about how she’d expect. The ceilings were low, and the wooden floor was dull. However, Andy couldn’t help but feel something was different. That there was something in plain sight she couldn’t see. She stood motionless at the door, searching for what she thought was missing. The house stood, too, waiting patiently.
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Escape Room Tango
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo -- EXCERPT: “My name is David Brant. I’m the owner.” He didn’t know why his words made the dark-haired woman glare at him, but David didn’t really care. He only had eyes for the redhead. She had stolen his attention from the moment she walked into the lobby. He’d been excited about welcoming his first customers, his intro speech on his lips. Every word left his mind the moment he saw her. She held herself differently than the other two women, with her shoulders back and neck extended. Her cinnamon-colored hair hung over her shoulder in a long braid. He wanted to pick up that braid and tickle her nose with it to make her laugh, anything to see what her smile might look like. Her green eyes speared him with their gaze, rendering him temporarily mute. He held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you…” He trailed off, hoping she’d take him up on the offer. She took it, her grip firm and decisive. “Elena.” “That’s a lovely name.” He grinned, realized he was acting like an idiot, and stepped forward to greet the other two women in the same way. They were all his customers and deserved the same courtesy. “Can I take your coats? There are hooks back here.” He’d designed the lobby to be comfortable but clearly a place of transition. With any luck, his customers wouldn’t spend much time here at all before being escorted into one of the three escape rooms in the back. If he wanted to be successful, he needed to have a constant flow of customers. That didn’t mean his lobby couldn’t be fun. He’d placed Rubik’s cubes and other mind-teasing puzzles on the coffee table near the chairs along one wall. He included a water cooler for those who arrived thirsty. If they were hungry, he’d happily direct them to Spano’s Pizza next door, owned by the family of his best friend, Tony. Without Tony, he didn’t think he’d have ever pulled the trigger and made this fresh start by opening his own business. “Of course, thank you.” Elena handed over her coat. David collected it and those belonging to the other two before hanging them. “Have you ever done an escape room before?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation going. “A few. But this place is new to us.” Elena seemed to be the only one willing to speak. Not that he minded, he liked the sound of her voice. Man, Tony was right. Before the ladies had walked in, he’d been telling David he had to get back in the dating scene, go on the rebound, get it out of his system. Clearly, his words held some truth if David had immediately started checking out his customers. Well, one notable customer in particular. 
GIVEAWAY! Hosted by: #Book Blitz #Whispers in the Waters by Sarah Chislon #Fantasy #Mystery @Xpresso Book Tours27/9/2022
Whispers in the Waters
Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo -- EXCERPT: I rounded a bend, and the slight woman I’d seen in the stratesman’s shadow when we’d arrived in Milburn stumbled down the lane, her gown of muslin streaked with dirt and littered with forest debris. She clutched a ragged silk shawl around her shoulders, as though it could shield her from notice. Nelda, Mrs. Wilkins had called her. Her palm dripped blood, and tears streaked her cheeks. For a moment, I remained rooted in place. If the townsfolk were to be believed, Nelda had brought a vengeful attack against Melle and her family. But the downcast lines of her body spoke of brokenness and distress, not malice. “Nelda?” I hoped she wouldn’t take offense at the use of her given name from a stranger. I hurried forward. “You’re hurt. What happened?” “I . . . I don’t know.” Nelda lifted her hand and watched as blood wept from it, one drop after another splatting against the dusty surface of the road. The wound cut deep. Could Mrs. Wilkins have been right when she’d suggested madness? I shifted the bundle of clothes from one arm to the other. “Can I accompany you home and find someone to tend your injury?” She laughed, a wild, off-key sound. “Home? I have no home.” “Then where are you staying?” I lowered my voice in an attempt to soothe her. “I’ll help you there and fetch an herbalist, if it suits you.” “Staying? No one will house me. Not after what’s happened at the mill.” She jabbed toward the trees with her uninjured hand. “I stay in the forest. At least here, I’m close. Close to where home used to be.” I drew in a sharp breath. To live in the forest, this close to a Crossing? It was unthinkable. Otherkind might lurk anywhere, not to mention natural predators. Had the entire town truly forsaken her, simply because she’d wed the wrong man and he’d abandoned her? Or was there more that I missed? Society offered swift condemnation for those who failed to abide by its strictures, but other than a poor choice in a husband, what wrong had she done? She swayed, and I rushed to steady her. “You can’t stay out here. You need proper shelter and someone to look at your wound. Come with me into Milburn, and we’ll find an herbalist.” “No, I can’t.” She backed away, every scrap of color leeching from already-pale features. “No one here wants to help. They’d only try to lock me up!” 
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Magic and Mayhem
-- EXCERPT: A knock came at the bathroom door. “Wren, honey? You all right?” I whipped that door open so fast an avalanche of steam billowed out of the bathroom to smack Fiona in the face. I hadn’t seen her since Serreno hauled me to Nico’s cabin for questioning. She appeared far better than the last time I’d seen her, all healed up by the med clinic and in fresh clothes. Wrapping her in a hug, I was glad I’d managed to get dressed before her knock. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting?” “And let you take that fool test by yourself? Please.” Shoving her away, I gripped her shoulders with a little too much gusto. “What? No. Please don’t tell me Serreno is making you test out, too.” Fiona frowned before giving me a winning smile. “If I want the charges against Girard to stick and a real investigation to be had into this place, then the both of us need to be agents, Wren. It just makes sense for us to do it now. Plus, it’ll be a snap.” She waved a hand as if it was so simple as she plopped onto the edge of the couch. “Hannah told me you blew them out of the water during your practical.” But Fiona was forgetting a particularly important facet of that event—not that she was around for it, but whatever. Namely, the null ward I wore around my neck like my own personal good luck charm. It kept me from fucking up—kept everyone safe. And to save us, I’d tossed it away. To save her. How was Nico going to get me a new one? He didn’t have time to trek down to Savannah and back. How was I going to pass this damn thing? Luck and blind optimism? I hadn’t been lucky a day in my life. “What about when Nico saved you?” Fiona replied to the thoughts I must have said aloud. “That seems pretty lucky to me. Of all the people to pull you from the burning wreckage of Azalea Apothecary, you got the super-hot shifter dreamboat with the giant dick and an unrelenting urge to keep you safe. If that ain’t luck, I don’t know what is.” “Whoa, who told you he had a giant dick?” Yes, that was what I latched onto, and yes, that sentence actually came out of my mouth. Fi speared me with a sharp glare. “No one had to tell me that boy is packing a damn cannon in those pants. He just walks like he’s got a monster in there. Like I told you before, I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” She wasn’t wrong.
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Mermaid of Venice
-- The full series is out NOW! Get started on it today! -- EXCERPT (book 1): In a dark corner of the canal, Gia Aqcuaviva sat on the curved wooden edge of her Riva doing what most locals did during the Venice Film Festival: She observed celebrities. Mega-yachts littered the Grand Canal—no doubt there were many billions in global currencies floating on the water. She was not a star-struck teen. On the contrary, she’d crossed paths with her fair share of the glitterati on the floors of her casinos and in the VIP rooms of her clubs in Paris and Berlin and Monte Carlo. Gia preferred the shadows, though. On this particular evening, she was staked out for one particular star, Nicolás Ángel Fernández, her lover. Nico was scheduled for the red carpet at five o’clock, a prime slot for maximum exposure to the paparazzi. His handlers would make sure he hit every mark and, then, that he would be smuggled out of the theater’s side door just as the lights went down. He couldn’t stand the sight of his own famous face on the screen. Never mind that he’d attained “Sexiest Man Alive” status several times over. He didn’t even like to see himself on directors’ monitors. The lack of vanity, the self-loathing, it was all part of his appeal. He preferred, instead, to look at Gia. Her deep brown hair, nearly waist long. Her pearly skin. She was almost fifty, but he didn’t know that—almost no one did. Those fortunate enough to meet her assumed that she was a rich woman in her late twenties or thirties. Her beauty defied logic, except that it didn’t. 
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Wild at Heart
-- On sale for $1.99 for a limited time only! -- EXCERPT: Chapter 1 JULES “I’m so jealous, Jules.” Bryn perched on the end of one of the beds in our hotel room at Cascade Locks, watching me pack gear. The thin, gray light of pre-dawn filtered through a crack in gold curtains that’d seen better days. I tucked a bag of snacks and my rain jacket into the top of my backpack, cinched the drawcord, and buckled the lid with a solid click. “Of what, twelve guys dumping me for their exes in a row? I’m sure we could arrange that for you too. If you ever really start dating again.” “Ha. Funny.” She toed my calf. “You’re taking five weeks off to go backpacking solo. Who cares why?” Tingles of excitement zoomed around in my chest and I flashed her a grin. “Yeah. Dealing with zero assholes and zero clients for more than a month does sound pretty heavenly, doesn’t it?” She grinned back. “Like I said, totally jealous. At least of your trip.” Her expression went serious. “I still can’t believe the next guy you date is gonna be unlucky number thirteen, though.” “Yeah. I’ve thought about that. Probably too much. Definitely enough to jinx the next one for sure. So, I’m swearing off men for at least a year to restart the count.” I hesitated, the excitement buzz fading. “A year is enough time to consider it a clean dating slate, right?” “Wait. You mean you’re swearing off dating, or swearing off sex too?” The last eight years had been nothing but suckage on the relationship front. It’d probably take more than a year to fix my shit. But nothing would change if I didn’t change something. “Yes. Both. All of it.” Bryn eyes widened. “You’re serious.” “Dead.” Bending, I tugged the rough nylon laces of my left boot. The well-worn leather snugged around my foot. “I’m never gonna figure out anything buried in too much work plus too many bad dates.” “When did you decide this?” “Last night.” I shouldered my pack and adjusted the straps until the familiar weight settled on the tops of my hipbones. “What I’ve been doing isn’t working. It’s time to take a big step back and focus on myself for longer than just a few weeks.” “I guess that’s one way to break the pattern.” Bryn opened the door, and we stepped outside into early morning stillness. “And yes, a year is definitely long enough to clean your dating slate.” Fog tendrils drifted from the Columbia River across the half-empty parking lot. The air hung thick with moisture and cedar and the sweet mustiness of damp soil. The best smell in the world after too many days breathing city fumes. “I sure as hell hope so. If not, at least maybe I can figure out what to do about my business. I can’t keep working this much.” We strolled across the lot side-by-side, the chill air nipping my skin through my nylon hiking pants and shirt, waking me up. The sky glowed marigold behind the inky silhouettes of the mountains. “You’ll come up with a plan. You always do.” “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” We crossed the empty highway, walked a few hundred yards, and turned off. Gravel crunched under our soles. “And thanks for driving me down here from Seattle. And picking me up at the other end.” “Of course. That’s what best friends are for.” She wrapped a hand around my arm and leaned in, hugging one of my few body parts not covered by my backpack. “Though I still wish I was going with you. I could use a break from assholes and clients, too.” The first golden rays of sunlight slanted through the tree branches, lighting the dirt road ahead. “We’ll have to plan a girlfriends’ trip once I get back.” “I’m holding you to that.” Her warm hand tightened on my biceps. “Maybe we can convince Aly to come with us for once.” I snorted. “We’ll get Aly on a backpacking trip when pigs fly. But I’m all for trying.” A handful of parked cars and a dark brown trailhead kiosk appeared, marking the southern end of the Pacific Crest Trail through Washington. And my starting point. And the start of five weeks of solitary bliss in one of my favorite places in the whole world. Bryn pulled out her phone. “Hey. Let me grab a shot of you in front of the sign, to commemorate the moment.” “Okay.” I took a few steps back. “Say, single life.” I popped a hip and smiled for the camera. “Single life.” “Perfect.” She slipped her phone into her pocket. “I love you, girlfriend. Stay safe out there and call me whenever you hit civilization.” “I will.” My throat tightened. “I love you, too.”
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Hostile Takeover
-- EXCERPT: “Flip the camera—let me see in the mirror,” Tate said. I eyed the corner of the screen and pressed the right button, flipping the camera. The display suddenly showed a full picture of what I was wearing. “You make Hugo Boss look next-level hot.” His voice was warm with approval, which eased a pinch of my nerves. “You’ve got this, Franklin. You have nothing to be nervous about. It’s your nephew, not the devil.” I swallowed uncomfortably and adjusted my tie. “They may very well be the same individual.” He chuckled and threw himself onto the couch—next to Kingsley, I noticed. They were dressed for an evening at home. Apparently they’d been hungover earlier today. Kingsley leaned closer and smiled faintly. “Hey, pet. Lookin’ sharp.” Heat bled onto my cheeks. “Thank you, Handler.” They absolutely loved that I was forty-seven years old and still blushed like a schoolboy. They certainly took advantage of the trait often enough. Kingsley said he got off on the contrasts of a man who looked like he owned the world but submitted like a cock-hungry whore. I was that cock-hungry whore. I wasn’t sure I agreed with his assessment of how I looked, but I understood the draw of contrasts. Kingsley and Tate were full of those too. Kingsley, the Master who could make me fall to my knees with a single look, who always wore jeans and tees and hoodies, who didn’t feel the need to assert himself to others; he just was. Then Tate, his Master’s property. The love of Kingsley’s life. My daughter’s teacher, who’d fooled me for months by wearing preppy cashmere sweaters, gingham button-downs, chinos, and glasses. Never a hair out of place. But when all that came off, he was a tattooed masochist and switch. Tate had introduced me to BDSM not that long ago. They’d granted me the privilege of joining them for occasional playtime. And Tate was…pure filth. A sadistic little Dominant who called me Daddy before rubbing my face in my own come. Kingsley cleared his throat as I flipped the screen again. “So explain something to me. You see this kid once or twice a year, but now you’re suddenly nervous?” To be fair, I was always uncomfortable when seeing Jack. And Tate had no issue telling his Master just that. “To this degree?” Kingsley pressed. “Well, no,” I admitted. After flicking off the lights in the bedroom, I aimed for the living room, where I had liquid courage on a cart next to the couch. “Things have changed. I’m supposed to be Uncle Franklin, the boring, straitlaced, predictable man who’s married to his aunt.” While Tate smirked, Kingsley scraped his teeth across his bottom lip and took on a pensive expression. “Screw who you’re supposed to be to him,” he murmured. “Who’s he supposed to be to you?” I frowned. “You lost me. He’s my nephew, of course.” Believe me. He’s my nephew. Kingsley cocked a brow. Tate was highly entertained, and he crawled up on Kingsley’s lap and rested his elbow on Kingsley’s shoulder. “I mean, you kinda indicated something else last week when you told me about his visit.” I scowled at him, then poured myself a whiskey. I had twenty minutes before my car service was due. “I did nothing of the sort,” I insisted. “I merely pointed out that since the last time I saw him, I’ve stopped being in denial about who I am—about what I am—and I’m worried I’ll see him in a different light.” “As I said…” Tate drawled. “So are you bringing condoms?” “For heaven’s sake!” I stared at him in disbelief. He was not helpful. Kingsley’s eyes flashed with amusement. “I take it he ticks all the Dom boxes, then?” God, I shouldn’t have accepted Tate’s call in the first place. They were making things worse. Much, much worse. Because they were saying out loud what I dreaded the most. I didn’t want Jack and BDSM in the same sentence. But…yes. That was my fear. I took a generous sip of my drink and relished the burn as it slid down my throat. “Is he gay?” Tate wondered. I winced and inclined my head. Jack had always been out, so to speak. When he’d reached the age most boys declared their love for girls, he’d said he’d liked boys “way more.” By fourteen, he’d had at least two boyfriends. “I think I’ve envied him on some level,” I admitted. “I never knew why, but now…” I could put two and two together. Homosexuality hadn’t existed in my world, not until I started college. My parents had come from nothing in Nowhere, Kentucky. Then my father had managed to get through school while working two jobs, and he’d made a life for us. They’d moved to DC right before I was born. He’d started his own practice. Mother had been a housewife. Not particularly religious, but traditional, nonetheless. Not to mention very strict and demanding. They’d wanted their idea of a bright future for me. Scholarships, private school, a fine degree. Wife, children, a nice house. I’d had my first intimate dream about another man when I was in high school, but it’d been about a teacher I hadn’t liked, so I’d chalked it up to a horrendous nightmare. I’d been so incredibly angry and embarrassed by my physical reactions. Not long after, I’d asked Samantha out on a date. “I’ve done so many things wrong,” I said. That softened something in Tate’s eyes. “It gave you Lily.” That was true. I certainly had no regrets, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t feel bitter and ashamed at times. “It’s time to look forward, pet,” Kingsley murmured. “You’re building something new.” I nodded once and took another sip of my drink. He was right. I was finally on the right path.
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Pride and Piña Coladas
-- EXCERPT: She’s completely flustered, and I have to say I’m enjoying this more than I should. But hey, she’s accused me of some pretty rotten things, so I’d say it’s only fair. “Nothing… I don’t know. But now that we’re stranded here, I’m off the clock, so for the next however many hours we’re stuck here together, I’m not an events coordinator, and you’re not a guest who…needs things. We’re just two people who happen to be stranded in the same villa. So, don’t think you can tell me to get out of my wet clothes, because I’ll decide if and when I’m going to take my clothes off!” “Someone clearly thinks highly of herself if she’s suggesting I want to get her naked,” I say before pursing my lips. Nora gasps. “She does not!” I shrug. “If you say so, but it really did seem like it when you said that whole thing about not ‘giving it to me,’ when the only reason I suggested getting out of our wet clothes is because you’re shivering and I came across a couple of plush bathrobes in the closet when I went to find the towels.” “Oh,” she says, dropping her shoulders a little. “There’s also a washing machine and a dryer, so I’m planning to launder my things, but if you want to stay—” I point to her—“as you are, suit yourself. I am going to have a hot shower.” Her teeth start to chatter, but she still has that stubborn look on her face. “I can see how that would be a reasonable idea.” “Is that your way of apologizing?” “I don’t owe you an apology,” she snaps. “Don’t you? Where I come from, when we make false accusations, we apologize and then commit to not doing it again,” I tell her. And before I can stop myself, I add, “But perhaps that’s only common courtesy among the top one percent of the world.” Her cheeks turn bright red and she sputters, “You know what? I am going to have a shower. A nice, long one, but not because you told me to. Because I want to.” “Have fun, Captain Justice,” I murmur when she turns to leave the room. That did it. She does a U-turn. “Captain Justice?” she hisses. “I’d say that suits someone who thinks she’s the paragon of all things just in this world, listening to only one side of a story and casting judgment on who’s right and who’s the devil.” Okay, so now I’m just being a jerk, but at this point, I don’t care. “Or should I call you Captain Jumps to Conclusions, based on you accusing me of trying to get you into bed just now?” “Captain Jumps to Conclusions? Do you even hear yourself? That’s quite possibly the most ridiculous thing anyone has ever said in the history of speaking!” “Captain Accusations, then?” I ask calmly. “You are the most rude, most arrogant, entitled man I’ve ever met!” she shouts, moving towards me until she’s so close she has to tilt her head back to look up at me. “You should be called Captain Thinks His Shit Doesn’t Stink!” I scoff, leaning closer to her. “It’s not so easy, is it? Coming up with sarcastic super-hero names when you’re angry.” “No, it’s not!” she yells. “Exactly! So don’t make fun of my attempt,” I yell back, too angry to laugh at the level of insanity we’ve reached. I stare down at her face, only inches from mine. She’s still shivering, and even though I’m furious, I want to wrap my arms around her and warm her up. Or kiss her hard on the mouth. Or both.
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The Mystery of Alan Norman McBride
-- EXCERPT: Mr. McBride let out a chuckle which soon erupted into an outright guffaw. He must have laughed for over five minutes, just sitting there laughing with the iguana in his lap and Waffles and Taffy by his side. “Murder me?” he exclaimed. “Murder me? Where ever did you get that idea?” Mr. McBride finished laughing and let out a lengthy sigh. Emily unzipped her backpack and took out her large notebook. “Look! It’s all written down right here – the whole conversation.” Mr. McBride took the notebook and read it to himself. “Are you trying to pull something here?” Mr. McBride furrowed his brow and looked suspiciously at the girls. “No, Mr. McBride. It’s all true!” Lauren insisted. “It is, hmmm?” He thought about this for a while. While he was deep in thought, Waffles the dog jumped up and licked his face. Suddenly, Mr. McBride jumped straight up out of his chair, startling the girls. “A-ha! They must want my papers!” He exclaimed, pointing his finger in the air. The girls looked confused. “Papers?” “Yes. They are extremely important to me. They contain the most valuable information I possess.” Lauren stood up. “What kind of information?” “You know…papers…important…infor…” He stopped short and stared out his window. “What in God’s name is that?” Parked outside was a long black limousine with the word “Cleaners” written in white paint on the windows. Emily looked at Pam and Pam looked at Lauren. It was Big Al and Dino. They were early! The two men got out of the car dressed in identical white jumpsuits. “It’s them!” Pam exclaimed. “Big Al and Dino. They’re coming for you, Mr. McBride.” 
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